Beauty of Annihilation
by Ghost G45
Summary: This is a work of fiction I have written concerning the ever famous game mode, Nazi Zombies.


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Introduction…

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Raising the dead. Reanimating the deceased. These have been the fevered dreams of madmen and geniuses. Controlling those which cannot be killed in an army to destroy their enemies. As the ranks of the confused and panicked enemy lessen, the ranks of the dead are bolstered. There would be no stopping them.

Their need for rest, unknown.  
Their need for hunger, they have none.  
Their need for flesh, a craving desire.  
Their numbers... Near endless.

What entire armies and weapons could not do, an army of those who have passed on could do in days. In a blitzkrieg, a lightning war. The perfect weapon. A wunderwaffe. They would be man's crowning achievement of destroying each other. A monument to all the years of advancing in weapons to kill man's enemies. They would be the beauty of annihilation.

Many theorized after the Second World War what the Germans had had in store. It had been proven for a long time that the Third Reich had commissioned experiments on nuclear warfare. But what else, exactly, had the Nazi s been planning? Designing? Creating?

Conspiracy theories of propulsionary flight, weapons capable of razing cities and rooting up entire armies. The discovery of lost journals and reports are still today giving more of an idea of what the Third Reich could've created, had the war not turned sour for them...

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December 13****th****, 1944…

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**

A plane flies high above the clouds. Its cargo: an experiment on the way to "the Giant." To a specific scientist who plans to utilize them to help turn the tide of the war, in the name of the Fuhrer. The plane had departed only just two hours ago, from a deep swamp on an uncharted island off the coast of Japan.

The night is black as pitch. The winds are near gale-like, and the clouds have turned dark in threaten of a storm. Below, there are abandoned homes and structures. Old military outposts from Japan's spread into China, and burnt out hiding places where the fleeing Chinese had attempted to take refuge.

Lieutenant Yager and Captain Amherst lounge quietly in the cockpit of the cargo plane. Yager reads a small book that he had withdrew from his coat pocket and Amherst held the controls of the plane, allowing it to glide through the air.

Taking into consideration the highly serious and volatile cargo they were carrying, they were rather calm and nonchalant.

Corporal Haswell sits on one of the seats attached to the lower wall in the small metal room that separates the cockpit from the rest of the ship. He rests his back against the wall, sleep clinging to him at the edges of his mind. He closes his eyes for a moment, to gain a little concentration and focus.

Haswell thinks of home, and of the events that have taken place since he last saw his family. Were they still back in Germany? Had they evacuated? Were they still alive? These thoughts brought him no comfort.

Haswell could not but fear for what may have happened to his family. They were unwanted. Undesirables of society. He had joined the army to hopefully throw off the trail and convince the Reich that his family was truly German. A feeling of discomfort and loneliness comes over Haswell as he clutches the Star of David hidden underneath his layers of clothes. Sleep clang to him, and he succumbed to it willingly...

A clang of metal. Somewhere nearby, the twisting of steel seemed to screech through the depths of Haswell's mind as he jumped with a start, awakening from his slumber. He looked around, confused. The noise continued, louder now, as metal raked against metal like nails on a chalkboard.

The cockpit hatch opened, Captain Amherst standing in the opening with a worried look on his face. In his hand, he held a Walther pistol, his finger brushing the trigger. Haswell jumped to his feet, and spoke hurriedly to Amherst in German, "What is it?"

Amherst only rose his finger to his closed mouth, signaling him to be silent. Amherst made his way over to Haswell, and stood right in front of him. Amherst, a large man standing at 6' 3" and weighing 230 pounds, made Haswell pale in comparison, only standing at 5' 7", standing before the giant.

Haswell looked into Amherst's eyes. They were filled with some sort of burning hatred. Haswell saw the fire that only filled the eyes of those few in the ranks of the German military forces that truly hated people of Jewish kin. They were the ones that truly believed every word Hitler spoke, and hated the Jews as much as their Fuhrer did.

Haswell was shocked. How did Amherst know? He must know, there was no other explanation. Amherst pointed at the floor of the metal cabin. Haswell looked down, and the Star of David was there at his feet, looking up at him. The necklace must've fallen from his neck when he had fallen asleep holding it.

He looked back up at Amherst, who had moved the sidearm up to Haswell's head. Haswell braced for the end. He knew it was over, that Amherst was about to fire the round through his skull and cause his brain matter to spew out all over the wall of the cabin.

Amherst would land with Yager, and he would be decorated as a hero for eliminating the scheming Jude who had planned to sabotage the plane and cause the cargo to fail. All lies, but Amherst would tell it his way, and the others would believe him. Haswell would never see his family again, and would die hundreds of feet in the air, thousands of miles from home.

However, in this shocking turn of events, both Amherst and Haswell had forgotten about the screeching metal. Haswell still didn't know what it was, but suddenly the thick steel door that sectioned off the cargo hold from the rest of the plane was torn open. A pair of bloodied hands ripped through the metal, grasping with sickly palms and shredded fingers. Open sores that had no blood running from them scattered across the backsides of the hands.

More hands quickly joined the first pair as Amherst and Haswell looked on in terror. The hands grasped at open air, and continued to try to rip through the door with an inhuman fury. Bone-chilling moans and terrifying growls could be heard from the other side.

Amherst knew immediately what had happened: The "experiments" who had been in the next room along with the other cargo had been bound to the walls by welded metal and put into cages. They must've broken free of their binds and begun seeking to quell their hunger by searching for the nearest living beings, those, unfortunately, being the three-men flight crew.

Haswell was stuck in a shocked stupor, unable to move. He was rooted to the ground, only able to stare on at the evil that was clawing in to get at him. Amherst ran back through the slightly ajar hatch that led to the cockpit.

"They're free! They're trying to break in!" He shouted in German. Yager turned and looked at Amherst, a horrified expression on his face. "What will we do?!" Amherst queried, still yelling in panic.

Yager knew that he had to land the plane. The chances of making it to the ground were slim, but he still had to try. "We will land." He replied quietly, and turned back to the controls.

From the other room, shots could be heard discharging from a Kar98k, a more or less standard bolt-action rifle that had been issued to Haswell for special cargo operations for use in situations just like this. Haswell shouted a cry of terror, and Amherst looked back through the open door.

The monsters had broken through the metal door, and were shambling towards Haswell and the men in the cockpit. Haswell ran to the cockpit door, stopping only to glance at his Star of David before just barely avoiding one of the monster's flailing arms, and running into the cockpit. Amherst and Haswell sealed the thick metal door just before the first of the terrors could reach them.

Haswell looked over at Amherst, who, even in this dire situation, glared at him with that same fiery hatred. Haswell attempted to avoid making further eye contact with Amherst.

The loose monsters outside were banging and smashing the door, trying to get in. Yager calmed himself, trying to focus on the plane's controls. "You may want to take a seat," he advised the two standing men. They quickly sat down where they could best manage a seat, and braced themselves.

The plane began to dip, heading almost straight down. Through the cockpit window the clouds were moving quickly, evaporating from their sight as they sped out of them. The lightning from the storm had become, and they could see distant flashes of the light as they sped, ever faster, downward.

Suddenly, one of the streaks of hot lightning collided with the back end of the plane. The aircraft shook violently, throwing Haswell out of his seat and sending Amherst sprawling against one of the metal walls of the cockpit.

Their downward descent became a chaotic spiral as the men were thrown around inside the cabin as the plane circled to the ground, falling out of the sky. The clouds and fog dissipated only two hundred feet from the ground, and they all got one good glance at the earth before they smashed into it. Everything went black...

**

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December 14****th****, 1944…

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**

Amherst woke with a start. He looked around, confused. He saw the concrete walls around him, and suddenly felt cold. He realized he was lying on a hard floor, the cool concrete prickling at his back with icy fingers.

His eyesight was still blurry, and he could just barely see a tall figure walking nearby him. His ears felt stuffed with cotton, and he could hardly hear what he assumed were two men speaking. As he came more to his sense, he realized that the two men were Haswell and Yager.

Amherst sat up and tried to take in more detail of his surroundings. In the corner of the room was a staircase. To his immediate left was a window boarded up with nails and rough planks of wood, as if they had been haphazardly sawed and nailed onto the frames of the now windowless opening. Outside, there was only fog.

He looked down at his wristwatch, but it was cracked and the fingers had stopped turning. He assumed that dawn must've been approaching, for a strange hue of light emitted from the fog, as it would on an early morning in Berlin, where the mists crowded the streets and made it hard to see, and blocked out the rising sun.

Yager looked over at Amherst, and realized he had regained his consciousness. Yager rushed over to the man, and helped him up. Amherst felt sore all over the place. Yager asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Amherst replied, feeling his back, trying to locate the main source of his soreness and misery. Amherst looked over at Haswell, who was sitting on a crate, and immediately felt the same burning passion of hatred he had on the plane, "You! _Jude!_"

Amherst felt for his pistol, but it was not there. He instead rushed over to Haswell and kicked him off the crate and grabbed him by the collar of his tattered uniform. He was on the verge of smacking Haswell and sending him sprawling, but as he lifted his arm Yager grasped his hand with his iron grip, refusing to let go.

"No." It was only one word, but Yager said it with such serenity and authority that Amherst unintentionally relaxed his arm and let go of Haswell. Yager let go of his arm, and returned to his seat after helping Haswell up off the floor and helping him retrieve his seat.

"But don't you realize, he is a Jew! He is undesirable!" Amherst shouted, regaining his sense of confidence and hate.

"Yes, I know. But he is not a bad man. He saved your life." Yager replied. Amherst looked over at Haswell in shock, but Haswell only returned the look with a blank face, empty of expression.

"When the plane went down, the... Um..." Yager paused, unable to think of a word.

"Monsters," Amherst said blankly, his face turning pale at the thought of them clawing out of the metal door back on the plane.

"Yes, the monsters. When the plane went down, the monsters began to shamble towards you. They were completely unaffected, given that the plane had just crashed. They don't suffer from shock like we do."

"Yes." Amherst replied.

"They began to shamble towards you, but Haswell regained his sense in time to fire a few rounds into the first few, and then dragged you to safety. Luckily for us, we found ourselves just outside of this abandoned structure. We assumed it was some sort of outpost, being maintained by the Chinese just before the Japanese ran them out, and then retreated back into central China."

"And where are these beasts now?" Amherst asked, looking around with apprehension. His mind began to imagine them, coming down the stairs and tearing at the windows. He thought he heard noises, their muffled moans above him and around him. Yager's voice snapped him back to reality.

"They retreated into the fog. You were unconscious for a day. While you were gone, they returned. We were out looking for lumber to board up the windows, as you see we have, when we discovered them trying to get into the outpost when we got back. They were trying to find us, but you were the only one inside. We managed to repel them, and a few escaped back into the fog."

"Strange," was all Amherst could manage to say, "How many were there?"

"About a dozen. Considering the five or so Haswell killed when he rescued you, and the six that we counted that were dead from the impact of the crash, there were -" Yager began, but Amherst cut him off.

"Than there were when we took off... That's not good." he said, his face losing more color. How could there be more? Amherst began to make a theory, when all of a sudden, a moan penetrated through the room, sending chills down the men's backs.

"They're back," Haswell said as his face flushed. He picked up his rifle and went up the stairs. "Let's go!" he shouted from above. Yager turned to Amherst.

"Wait here. There may be a few coming from the opposite side, and that means they'll try to break through the barricaded windows down here. You repel them, since you are still weak and may not be able to handle going up there with us." With that, Yager handed Amherst a rifle and headed upstairs, scooping up his MP40 that had been resting on another crate near the stairs.

Amherst stood up, still sore and aching. He looked at the opposite wall. Luckily, there were only two windows, both well boarded up. There was room for him to peer out, and so he limped, as his leg had a strange sensation of burning pain, to the nearest window and looked out.

Through the fog, he could see nothing. Just before the wall of fog enveloped everything, he could see the crashed plane, crates, metal, debris, and other wreckage flung everywhere. Signs of fire were evident on the ground, where scorched earth could be seen.

As soon as the danger was over, he would have to go out to the aircraft and look for the remaining cargo, whatever else there may be left. He had to recover something. It may be the only clue as to why they are seemingly multiplying.

Suddenly, a figure animated out of the mist. It shambled toward Amherst. From deep in its throat, a hollow and deviant moan echoed. Amherst shivered as the noise passed into his ears. He took aim, and fired. A significant amount of black liquid spurted from the neck, but the creature kept shambling onward as if nothing happened.

Amherst took aim again, and shot it in the head. The skull cracked, and the creature fell over, black liquid pouring from the hole where its eye had been. Amherst took a moment to rest, calming his nerves after seeing the zombie.

They were truly a horrid sight, still wearing their clothes they had been wearing before they had perished on either a battlefield or on a sick bed, now covered in mud and dirt.

Their eyes seemed to glow yellow, but their eyes simply gave the impression that they were. The eyes were truly just sunken and colored to a pale yellow, and were bloodshot. Similar effects on pupils had been seen in the late 1700's, during the Yellow Fever outbreak in the newly formed Americas, as well as in other countries where Yellow Fever ran rampant during the summer time of the year, when the mosquitoes carrying the disease were most active.

But the yellow eyes effect on the monsters were not caused by disease-infested flies, or of any other natural causes. Amherst knew this, having read many of the notes, reports, and journals on them.

The researchers had found out that the "Yellow Eyes Effect" was the cause of Ununpentium, element 115, which had been used in the later experiments. The element emitted a yellow gleam, which was reflected in the creature's pupils and was what gave the eyes a strange hue of yellow, causing their eyes to seemingly glow yellow.

Amherst began to contemplate more, but suddenly he turned to the window, which was on the opposite wall of the one he was standing at, to see one of the monsters ripping off the first of the boards. Amherst shrieked, and aimed his rifle. He fired, and hit the cadaver on the arm as it tore at another one of the boards.

Amherst fired once more, and the beast fell to the ground outside. He panted. He had been taken off guard, and he would not allow his thoughts to wander again.

It could cost him his life. Or maybe save him from this waking nightmare. Or become a part of it.

Amherst waited, peering out into the heavy mists. No more of the undead assailants appeared out of the fog, but he dared not move away from the window. He crouched near the lower part of the window, looking out, trying to pierce the fog with his eyes.

Fingers of lazy mist curled around, making every small object seem as if it were rising from the ground, or crawling up to him. His mind was playing tricks on him, and he felt as if he was beginning to experience hysteria.

The noises and moans returned to him, and he began to see the beasts clawing through the metal door back on the plane. The metal being wrenched and torn screeched in his mind, the arms reaching out, the open sores dripping no blood. He felt bile forming in his throat, and felt as if he was about to vomit. The noises and moans became more horrendous and unbearable. He felt a scream welling up in the back of his throat.

Suddenly, a hand grasped him. He yelled in terror. He looked at the hand, but there were no open sores or torn fingers. Amherst observed the arm with wide-eyed pupils, noticing the arm did not have torn sleeves or gray flesh. Amherst looked up, and saw Yager's calm face looking at him.

"They are gone," he simply said with his regular tone of authority and serenity. Behind him, Haswell stood. Black, viscous liquid was splattered on his tattered uniform as if an inkwell had spilled on him. His face was grim and filled with anxiety and apprehension as he looked around, observing the silent walls, as if the threat was still near.

"Are you all right?" Haswell asked Amherst, still keeping his distance. Amherst stared

"Yes," he said dumbly. Yager helped him to his feet. He looked over at the window, untouched since he had downed the last zombie. He had gotten lucky.

"How long was I out?" Amherst asked, retrieving his rifle which had been dropped by the window.

"We saw you scream and pass out as we came back down the stairs. You've only been out for a few minutes. Everything's fine, they're gone." Yager said, reassuringly. Amherst realized what he now needed to do. He looked at both his comrades.

"I need to go back to the plane," he said. Yager and Haswell looked at him, confused. "Don't ask questions, I just need to. Now how do I get out of here?" The two men looked at Amherst, still with confused expressions on their faces.

After a moment, Yager stood up and said "Right then, this way." Yager began walking towards the staircase once more, and signaled for Haswell to stay behind. Yager retrieved his MP40, which was resting in its normal place at the foot of the stairs, and put the strap on his shoulder, allowing the gun to hang freely.

The two men walked through the rest of their fortified outpost. Amherst felt good, given the circumstances, about being able to walk around more freely, his legs adjusting and slowly working off the aching pain in his back.

Amherst observed the rest of the structure. Papers, books, and other clutter was scattered all over the ground. Bookshelves lay overturned, a few desks thrown against the walls or smashed on the concrete floor.

It seemed as if everyone here had just picked up and disappeared, leaving a wake of trash and other debris as they went. Amherst was about to ask if the outpost could've been an abandoned Chinese one when Yager stopped walking abruptly.

Amherst nearly collided with him, having been only a few feet behind Yager. He almost asked why they had stopped, when Yager motioned for him to be quiet. Amherst looked past Yager, and saw what must've been the center of the structure.

A staircase was attached to the left wall, leading up to the second story of the building. Just past the staircase, the roof had collapsed, and a large concrete slab lay smashed on the floor. Around it, the bodies of the most recent attackers were still strewn about, limbs and body pieces missing from the corpses, some drenched utterly in black liquid.

Then Amherst heard it: A faint moan. Yager must've heard it the first time, for he was now searching wildly with his eyes, trying to locate the source of the noise. Yager began to walk forward, slowly and stealthily. He had removed the strap from his shoulder and was now clutching it tightly, his finger lightly brushing the trigger.

He signaled for Amherst to wait. Amherst had already turned the safety off on his rifle and was now holding it in front of him, staying ready for anything. It seemed as if the place had lost all warmth, the little there was, instantly, as if something had sucked it from the place like a vacuum.

Yager kept walking, his black boots tapping against the floor ever so softly. Just before him, the staircase began. Overhead, he knew, there was an opening where you could see down into the main room from the second story. He looked up, pointing the barrel of his sub-machine gun as he did so.

He kept walking, waiting to see if anything would fall from the second story. Nothing happened. He returned his gaze down just in time to reach the edge of the dark pool of viscous black liquid.

He stepped over the corpses as best he could, trying to avoid looking at their distorted faces and bloodshot yellow eyes. Suddenly, something grabbed his leg. He looked down with a yell, and saw a zombie with no legs grasping his pants leg with an iron grip. He tried to jerk it off of him, but it would not let go.

Amherst came running up, about to fire a round. Suddenly, a black figure fell from the second story in front of him. He came face to face with a set of bloodshot, yellow eyes. It grabbed him, and began to pull him in. Amherst tried to break free, but all he could see was the zombie's wide-open mouth with the set of blackened, jagged teeth as he realized its grip on him was like steel. Amherst managed to grab his knife from its sheathe on his belt, and began to grapple with the monster, trying to stab it as it tried to bite him.

Yager managed to fire a round into the crawler's head, and then stamped down on the hand that was holding him, hearing the bones crack as he did so. The hand released its deadened grip, and Yager managed to recover in time to see Amherst stabbing the zombie in the stomach.

The zombie's guts and bowels spilled out, though no blood ran, all over Amherst and onto the ground. It continued to try to bite, and it nearly nicked his face. Amherst fell over, sending the zombie sprawling with him as they continued to struggle.

Suddenly, a pistol discharged. A round entered through the back of the zombie's head and out the left eye, causing the black substance to splash onto Amherst's face. The zombie was dead. Well, even more so than he had already been.

Haswell appeared in the doorway, Walther clutched in his hand, his face grim yet confident. He smiled a bleak smile at Amherst, who had looked over at him. He walked over and assisted Yager in helping him up.

"Come, let us get to the plane." Haswell said, and with that the three men walked through the rest of the outpost exited through a door Yager and Haswell had reinforced with rough scraps of lumber when Amherst had been unconscious.

Once outside, they walked around the side of the building, past several oil drums, rustic trucks, and twisted metal that lay scattered on the ground. They intentionally tried to stay as close to the concrete exterior wall as they could. They didn't want to venture too far into the fog.

They finally reached the downed plane, after what seemed like an eternity of walking silently, stopping to listen, checking behind them, and preparing themselves for a fight at the slightest sound. Amherst and the others stepped over the wreckage, slowly making their way to the back of the plane, which was one of the only recognizable parts of the aircraft that was left.

On the back wing, a black mark was the only evidence that it had been struck by a bolt of lightning. The metal had twisted as it melted under the extreme heat, leaving it looking contorted and odd.

Amherst came up to the hatch that led into the cargo room. Haswell and Yager stood directly behind him, Yager clutching his MP40 and pointing it at the door, Haswell staring off into the oblivion with his rifle ready in his hands.

Amherst braced himself. He opened the door, and peered inside the cargo plane, into the darkness.

Amherst stood at the opening of the door, frozen. He watched, trying to see through the darkness that stood before him like a black wall, but to no avail. Amherst waited, listening intently. Anything "alive" inside could stir at any moment, becoming aware of his presence there.

He waited. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. The metal hull was bone-chillingly cold and was eerily silent. Amherst took a step, his black boots echoing against the metal. Still, nothing moved. He said a short prayer under his breath, and took another, larger step inward.

Satisfied that nothing that could feast on his flesh was still in the hull, so he began to move more freely and slightly more confident. He found a lantern that had magically survived the crash without breaking into glass shards, and walked back to the opening.

"Do either of you have a match?" he asked, gesturing towards the lantern.

Yager searched his pants pocket. Haswell reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a book of matches and threw them over to Amherst. Amherst grabbed them out of the air and opened the book, withdrawing a match as he did so. He struck the match and lit the lantern. He pocketed the matches and went back into the cargo hold.

This time, the hull was lit up by the blazing light emitting from the lantern. Scraps of metal were scattered about the floor, many crates were turned and their contents spilt out. Several glass tubes, beakers, calcinators, and other alchemical and scientific instruments were smashed or damaged. Black liquid was stained onto the metal like ink to a white shirt, creating large splotches of the viscous substance on the walls.

Amherst stepped inside timidly. A piece of glass shattered underneath his heavy boot, startling him. He jumped and looked down. Outside, he heard Yager chuckle, though very grim as it was. Amherst shook his head and continued in. He searched the ground for anything of use.

Few papers were on the floor, so he hoped that the small box he was looking for had not been opened during the crash. He raised the lantern to the corner he thought the box may be in, judging from the tilting of the plane and the possibility of it having been thrown into that corner during the downward spiral.

On the wall to the left side of the corner, a pair of wrought iron wrist-chains was bolted to the wall. Hanging from one of the chains was a twitching hand. Amherst yelped, stumbling.

Yager rushed in from outside, and saved Amherst from the fall that would've occurred had he not appeared.

"What is it?" Yager asked quickly behind clenched teeth. His free hand he had not used to help Amherst was fingering the sheathe to his combat knife that was attached to his leg, his eyes sliding in every direction.

"Look," Amherst answered, pointing at the hand. Yager made a sound of disgust as Amherst's stomach churned looking at the sight again.

"Just ignore it," Yager told him, stepping back towards the cargo entrance. It was too obvious that Yager had as little interest to study the hand further as Amherst.

Amherst averted his eyes from the grisly sight, and began to search the cold, steel floor for any signs of his missing box.

After several minutes of careful searching, he found the box underneath a pile of rubbish and glass, among other garbage, covered in the same black liquid as the walls. It seemed a puddle of it had formed in the corner. Amherst noticed several trails of the substance twisting and turning as if they were small streams towards the corner, where it had built up and gathered the foul-smelling puddle.

Amherst shook his head, holding the box between his arms, guarding it, as he made his way back to the entrance. The box was about the length of a large-sized hardcover book, and possibly double or triple the size, though the contents inside were much more valuable than any book in existence, even more so than the Bible.

Amherst smirked. Of course it's more valuable than the Bible, the contents in this box have defied its word several times already. With that, he stepped back out of the cargo, throwing the matches back to Haswell as he went, the evil smirk still stuck on his face.

Amherst stepped outside, his eyes squinted. Even in this dim light, his eyes needed to adjust from the darkness he had been in moments ago. He protected the box with his arms around it, like a school girl clutching her book.

"What's that?" Yager asked, turning around as Amherst stepped onto the ground.

"The answer to the questions we have," he replied solemnly, clearing the devious grin from his face. Haswell walked up, somewhat nonchalantly, to them, though he was still somewhat tense, his eyes shifting every few minutes to look around him.

Haswell said nothing, simply staring at the box. Amherst simply walked by him, calling over his should "Let us return to safety." Yager and Haswell followed close behind as they walked back to the entrance.

The walk back to the entrance was just as slow as the walk to the plane, if not slower. They had noticed by the dimming of the light of the fog that the sun was slowly setting, and would soon pass underneath the horizon they could not see.

Every sound seemingly grew louder as the fog grew darker, hastening the men's pace back to the safety of the interior of the building. Strange echoes seemed to form into moans as odd figures in the fog formed into strange, broken humanoid figures, only to dissolve into twisted trees and other fauna.

Finally, after what seemed as though they would never reach the collapsed part of the building before darkness befell them, they found the entrance into the abandoned outpost. They stepped inside, making great care to avoid stepping on the bodies or the dried black liquid that was scattered across the floor.

Once they had returned to the lowest level of the building, they sat back down on their crates. Yager retrieved a small cooking kit and poured the contents out onto the floor. Haswell grabbed a pot that had been resting in the corner of the room and placed it on top of the cooking stove from the set, and retrieved his matches. He lit the stove on fire, and allowed the pot to boil.

Yager pulled out three small silver packets of powdery food. As the water boiled, he poured the contents into the pot of water. After several minutes, Yager retrieved his knife and began to stir the goopy substance inside the pot with the hilt of his knife.

He passed out two small bowls to Amherst and Haswell, leaving the last one for himself. He then poured the "food" into their bowls.

Haswell looked over at Amherst and Yager, who were quickly scarfing down the contents of their bowl. He looked back down into the strange substance floating around in his. He had never had these portable meals before, as he had always eaten at any given cafeteria at the place where he would've landed a delivery, being part of a delivery flight crew.

The substance had no foul odor, if any at all. He convinced himself to eat it, and raised his spoon to his lips.

The first bite was terrible. His gag reflex caused him to spit it up and onto the floor. Amherst made a disgusted sound in his throat, but Yager simply ignored the two of them.

Haswell tried again. The second bite wasn't as bad. He managed to push it down, but it did not rest easy in his stomach. The second bite was worse than the first. This cycle repeated, the substance getting gradually worse and worse as he went, until the bowl was very nearly empty.

Haswell set the bowl down on the ground, and fell onto his back, resting himself on the cold concrete floor with a groan.

"You will get used to it, in time," Yager told him, "Now, Amherst, what is inside that box of yours?" Amherst looked up, and then simply grabbed the box and rested it in his lap. Haswell craned his neck from his resting position to see.

The box was very simple, made of a hardwood like oak or hickory. Though Amherst was no carpenter, he could tell that this box had been designed to stay durable and not allow the contents to be lost. There were pretty inscriptions and engravings on the box. The maker of this box had put much time into decorating it, and it appeared that he had done so with much care: the edges of the box were flawless and smooth. The box had a simple gilded lock on the front, to which there was no keyhole.

Amherst pulled the simple metal bar that was holding the lock in place, and popped the lid off. Inside was a few items he had expected: notes, a journal, a vial, and many other papers and diagrams.

But at the bottom of the box was a small stuffed teddy bear. He disregarded it, and kept it in the box.

Amherst began reading through the notes, observing the diagrams. He picked up the vial and looked at it as he held it delicately in his hands. The vial's contents were hard to see, actually impossible to do so with the naked eye, but according to the journal, the contents didn't need to be seen to understand the terrible and tremendous value that it held.

Haswell reached down to pick up some of the notes that had fallen. As he lifted them off the floor, he began to read one of them. Amherst quickly snatched the notes out of his hand with a glare. Haswell backed down, returning the glare with one of his own.

"Well, what is in there that is so important?" Yager asked, hiding the impatience from his voice. Amherst looked up, a grin on his face.

"Allow me to read them to you," he replied as he lifted up the closest note to his eyes. He cleared his throat and began to read:

"Dear Dr. Maxis,

I am pleased to inform you that we have reproduced your findings here at Ramree Island. We have successfully reanimated over two dozen corpses into fully functioning bodies.

Their behavior is little different than the behavioral actions that you have reported being seen. We have tested on corpses that have been in swamp water for several days, as well as bodies that were, at one point, infected with a number of different diseases.

We have noticed little to no different actions in behavior than what you have reported from fully healthy and clean corpses. This proves further our thoughts that it does not matter what state of mind or body the subject was in before death and reanimation.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Adler"

Yager urged Amsel to go further. Amsel selected another note and began to read carefully, lifting up the glass vial from the box again as he did.

"Dear Dr. Maxis,

Some of my research team collected a small amount of Ununpentium from the meteor in the swamp today and concentrated it into very small portions of high density. They injected this concentrated version of the element into one of the test subjects. The subject's radiation levels began to sky rocket as the element entered the system. It began to behave in a fit of rage, more so than usual, and burst from its chains.

It attacked one of my researchers, and he was fatally wounded. We have moved him to a quarantined containment room where he will be medically treated as we await for the outcome.

I have encased with this note a small vial of this concentrated element, as I thought that you may be able to use it and possibly reverse the effects so that you may be able to calm and control subjects instead of having them explode in rage. I wish you luck.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Adler"

Amherst carefully handed the vial to Yager, and he began to inspect it as Amherst read another note.

"Dear Dr. Maxis,

A problem has arisen. Late last night, one of the test subjects managed to escape. It broke from its bindings and actually _smashed through the wall._ Before my men could contain it, as we did not want to harm it or kill it in fear of losing our research, it escaped into the swamp.

I fear what may happen if that creature makes it to the coast, and somehow floats off. Or worse.

Sincerely,

Dr. Adler"

"Dear Dr. Maxis,

That creature returned. But it was accompanied by a few others. I gave the command to take them down before they could do any damage to our other subjects, or my men. One of my men downed them and later recognized one of the bodies to be that of one of the subjects that had been buried in the swamp days before.

But that's not the most troubling part. The subject that was recognized had not had any amount of element 115 radiation or infusion. Do you know what this means?

I have hypothesized that the element radiates from any one host's body. The particles from this radiation seep into nearby corpses, or into the ground. From there, any body underneath the surface of the ground soaks up these particles, like a sponge, and then reanimates after enough exposure has occurred.

But that does not explain why the first subject escaped in the middle of the night, only to return. I will have my men investigate the swamp to see if they can find anything.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Adler"

With this, Amherst looked up at the other two men. They all shared the same thoughts. This must've been how more zombies had come to attack them than previously. Amherst kept reading with further tension and quickness.

"Dear Dr. Maxis,

My men came back, rag-tag and defeated. Three of them were missing. When I asked their leader what happened, he reported to me that they had stumbled upon a nest of saltwater crocodiles that had made their home deep into the swamp, near the coastline. However, when they had discovered the nest, they only found many mutilated and decomposing carcasses. The beasts had consumed their flesh and left the bodies to rot in the swamp.

This explains why the monsters came back, because they could not find a food source close enough, and so returned to a point of origin where they must've known there would be a food source: Our outpost, with all our thriving and blood-filled men.

My men had then been attacked by a number of the creatures rising up out of the swamp. Three of them were killed, and I fear that soon they will return to us with unwelcome arms. I am going to investigate myself. I plan to take a team of my men into the swamp and eradicate this problem now, before it gets out of hand.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Adler"

"Dear Dr. Maxis,

I would like to inform you that there are no more problems. We have begun testing as normal, and have cleared up the problem. Dr. Adler has since been promoted, and sends you his regards as he relaxes a bit before being transferred to another facility where he may better serve the Reich and all of Germany.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Bieber"

Amherst set the note down, and shook his head. Haswell's face was grim and confounded. Yager sat, attempting to piece together all the information he had just heard, and trying to comprehend it.

"Well, we know why there were more of them," Yager finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, "They must've somehow come across bodies somewhere nearby."

"But where did these bodies come from? Where is there a graveyard or a morgue here, in the middle of nowhere?" asked Haswell.

"The Chinese fought the Japanese as they encroached upon their land. No doubt several battles and massacres took place around this area. The corpses of the fallen, buried or otherwise, must've been stumbled upon by those things," Yager said coolly.

"How did you know about this box?" Haswell asked Amherst quickly. Amherst looked over at him with a confused look on his face, as if he did not understand. "The box?" Haswell questioned again.

"I'm… I'm not sure," Amherst replied with that same expression of confusion on his face. He lowered his head and observed the box questioningly with his eyes. How had he known about it? He hadn't seen it loaded onto the plane with the other cargo. One of the professors must've put it in there, no doubt Dr. Bieber, if anyone.

Amherst shook his head, "It matters little." Yager then suddenly got up from his makeshift seat and grabbed his MP40 that had been resting in its usual place by the staircase.

"I'll take first watch. Haswell, I will awake you when it is time for your shift shortly after midnight. Amherst, Haswell will wake you half through the night, and you will keep watch until dawn. If they come back, we'll be ready," Yager instructed as he made his way slowly up the stairs to the above floor.

Haswell put the cooking set and all the dishes back up, and then picked up his crate and relocated to one of the corners of the room, making sure to keep away from any of the windows.

Amherst began to collect all the objects and put them back in the box. He laid his hand on the teddy bear, and again the strange sensation that had come over him when he had first thought to retrieve the box had overcome him.

He sat, dumbfounded, for a moment, and then shook his head and placed the stuffed animal in the box.

Amherst stood up and looked for another corner, making sure to keep away from where Haswell was resting. He placed the crate down, along with the box, and stretched himself out on the cold, concrete floor.

Amherst felt the urge to peer back into the box. He retrieved it and opened the lid, and began sifting through it.

After a few moments of looking, he found a small journal. Curious, he opened it and flipped through the pages. All the pages were blank. He suddenly felt that he needed to write in it. He had no real understanding why, only that he wanted to.

He continued looking through the box, searching for a pen. He found one, amazingly enough, and flipped to the first page of the book, and dated the top left corner.

"December 14th, 1941:

We are trapped here: Yager, myself, and that filthy Juden. Our plane went down as the monsters tried to get in at us. I am unsure what else to call these abominations other than simply monsters.

I however feel that they deserve a name. Something that classifies them distinctly for what they are. They are terrible, walking cadavers, arisen from their graves to murder the living. They seemingly have no motive or thought, only some strange urge to kill and feast on flesh, as we have found from the notes from those hapless men.

I recall during my studies in Germany about a certain culture of Bantu origin that told stories of men who arose from the dead without free will or thought. They called these creatures "zonbi." Therefore, I dub these abominable cadavers "zombies."

This place is strange to me. A thick fog lays all around us, so dense we can hardly see two meters from our face. We perceive twisted trees and burned wreckage to be these horrid zombies, lurking around in the mist.

Their moans are utterly horrid. A guttural noise emits from the bottom of their throats and seemingly echoes through your skull, sending terrible chills through your spine. Their eyes glow yellow, and they look as if they are diseased.

As for this box… it is strange. I had no idea it existed, but after the first encounter, it became the most prominent thing in my mind. A strange urge to find it overcame me, and somehow I knew it would provide us with answers, which it thankfully has. But all the same, the strangeness of it all confounds me. Maybe I simply need sleep."

With that, Amherst dropped the pen and closed shut the journal, dog-earing the page, and attempted to sleep. He shut his eyes and curled up into a ball, using the rough crate as a pillow. The fingers of sleep clung to him, beckoning him, and though his conditions were completely unfavorable, he slept heavily and dreamed of bloodless hands with open sores clawing in at him in a dark metal room…

**

* * *

December 15****th****, 1941 – 0342 Hours Military Time

* * *

**

Amherst awoke with a start. An unseen force was shaking him, pushing hard and vigorously on his shoulder. Amherst felt groggy: it felt as if he had only been asleep ten minutes. As he opened his eyes, his eyesight was blurry and his head was dazed.

After a few moments, he began to hear and see correctly. Haswell was shaking him, shouting in his face, "Wake up, they're here!"

Amherst's mind immediately made the connection; he jumped up, grabbing his rifle as he did so.

"Where are they?" he asked quickly with clenched teeth, gripping his rifle.

"Yager is upstairs. They're pushing through the front entrance. We must hurry." Haswell said in a flood of words, and then rushed over the stairs and disappeared from Amherst's sight. Amherst took a step, but then he hesitated. He turned to where the journal was, lying on the concrete floor next to the crate. He stooped over and hid it in his coat pocket. He didn't want for the others to discover it. Amherst turned around and ran up the stairs at full speed.

When he reached the area of the building with the collapsed roof, he found Yager and Haswell firing wildly into a mob of at least three dozen zombies. Their horrible eyes glowed furiously yellow, and they growled and moaned as they pushed towards the men.

One zombie got close to Yager and threatened to topple on top of him, flailing his arms as he did so. Amherst fired without stopping to think. The zombie's head exploded in a flurry of brain matter, gray flesh, and black liquid. The liquid spewed over Yager, but he took little notice. He had just finished reloading, and had begun to spray another clip of his submachine gun into the never-ending onslaught of zombies.

Amherst continued to shoot, until suddenly he heard the ripping of wood and metal just behind him. He turned to his right to see two zombies ripping haphazardly at the boards of a windowsill.

He ran up to the window and hit the zombie standing to the left with the butt of his rifle. It stumbled and fell to the ground with a loud moan. The other zombie continued to rip through the boards as if nothing had happened. It appeared that the zombies were almost totally unaware of each other. They were all single-minded units, and they had all come here through their own instincts.

Amherst fired at the standing zombie, more thick black liquid spewing from its neck. A large portion of its neck had disappeared, and the head was bobbing to one side. It kept ripping at the boards. Amherst fired again, disconnecting the head. The head rolled off the backside of the body and fell to the dirt outside, and the body spewed black liquid from the open neck before finally falling over in a pool of its own "blood."

Amherst checked to see where the other zombie had gone. It had just begun to stand up. Amherst fired a quick clean round into the eye socket, and then turned back to Yager and Haswell.

The numbers of the zombies had greatly decreased. The flood of cadavers had slowed down to more or less a trickle, and their numbers continued to lessen. After a few more minutes of combat, the last zombie dropped onto the pile of corpses.

Haswell sat down, catching his breath as he rested on his rifle. Amherst observed the bodies closely. They were soaked in the dark viscous substance, and a large pool had formed around the primary pile of bodies. Some of the corpses were dressed in military attire, wearing what they had died in. There were a few Wehrmacht uniforms, but doubly as many Imperial ones. Several more were dressed in night time clothing, as if they had been sleeping in their beds at home.

Strange, Amherst thought to himself. Yager was rooted to where he had been standing, his eyes shifting from side to side. He listened intently, waiting to hear if there were any others coming. After what seemed like forever, he lowered his weapon and exhaled a deep breath.

"Come. We must rest," he said as he began to walk back towards the stairwell, "Haswell, it is your turn to keep watch."

"Yes sir," he replied quickly, and remained where he was sitting.

As Amherst and Yager began walking to the stairway, they heard a low guttural snarl. Yager looked quizzically at Amherst, who returned the look. They turned sharply, holding their weapons up, ready to fire.

Amherst listened for the source of the noise, and concluded that the noise was emitting from the window he had protected from the two zombies. He crept up to it, and slowly looked between the ripped boards, trying to see into the mist.

He could hear the snarling even louder now, but he could not see the body. It was as if the zombie was right on top of him, and yet he could see nothing. Then he looked down.

At the foot of the window, he could just barely make out the shape of the head of the zombie he had blown off. It was rolling around in the dirt, black liquid pouring from the open hole, still very much alive and very furious. It snapped and snarled as it tossed around vigorously.

Amherst was confused: How could it be making noises if the head was unattached from the neck? That was when he noticed the larynx and lower portion of the vocal chords and airway, along with a lot of the interior throat, was hanging from the open hole. The organs and tissue looked dead and sickeningly gray. Black liquid continued to pour out, and a small pool of it had formed.

Amherst turned away in disgust. Yager had come up and also seen the gruesome sight. Yager nearly retched. The two then turned, stomachs churning, to the entrance to the stairway, and descended into the floor below.

Amherst returned to his corner and withdrew the journal from his coat pocket. He retrieved the pen and began to write as Yager stretched himself out at the other end of the long room. Darkness mostly enshrouded Amherst, keeping him out of sight from Yager's watchful eyes.

"The Juden woke me up shaking me and shouting at me. Dozens of them had returned this time, even more furious and enraged than before. After the battle, I discovered one of their heads. It had been removed from the body, but it was still moving. I nearly vomited at the sight of the disgusting thing, groveling and fighting in the dirt.

The most recent creatures seem like new bodies, as if they have risen from a fresh grave. Others are wearing pajamas, as if they were slaughtered and reanimated in their sleep. I fear for the worst. I go to sleep with a weary body and a disturbed mind."

Amherst forced shut his eyes closed, trying to wipe the memory of the severed head from his memory. He knew the memory would be imprinted there for the rest of his life.

**

* * *

December 14****th****, 1941 – 2103 Hours Military Time

* * *

**

Jian Shu awoke in the middle of the night with a start from his bed. A crash of breaking glass had resounded from downstairs. He got out of bed and put on his glasses. His wife lay on the small feather bed, her rest undisturbed by either the noise or Jian's movement.

She had had a long day, trying to coax crops from the ground. Ever since they had become refugees and established the small village they now called home in Northeastern China, food and water had been scarce, and they had to toil in their sodden fields day after day to feed their small populace. She slept soundly in her bed, unaware of her surroundings. She was beautiful in every way, and Jian was proud to call her his wife.

Jian walked over, quietly, to a small wooden chair where his pair of work pants had been left draping before he had gone to bed. He pulled on his rough pants and tiptoed back to his bed, where his Chiang Kai-shek rifle, commonly known and referred to as the Type 24, was resting against the wall. Already loaded and ready to fire, he clenched the rifle in his hands and made his way to the door.

He pushed against the door, and the makeshift hinges creaked loudly as he did so, despite his efforts. Downstairs, he could hear a low sound. He clenched his rifle even more tightly as he finished opening the door, stepping out of the room and onto the flight of stairs that led downstairs.

Jian owned the one and only shop in the village, where he supplied farming equipment, hardware, and just about anything else the villagers would need for day-to-day labor. No one in the town had ever had any intention to break into his shop. Everyone in the village knew each other, and they had formed a trusting community.

Who could it be, then? Jian asked himself. Japanese soldiers? Impossible, there'd be much more noise, they'd be raiding and causing as much damage as they could before withdrawing back to their little bunkers and outposts. Wild animals? No, they had always been more afraid of the humans than they had of them. Bandits? It seemed the only possible thing, but even out here in this empty and desolate place, it seemed unlikely that they would try to steal anything. Regardless, there was something in his shop that was causing ruckus, and Jian was going to figure out what that something was.

He just couldn't of ever imagined what that something was.

Jian reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping softly in his bare feet when he touched the wood floor. He walked down the short hallway, his firearm raised in front of him and ready to fire, that led to the back of the shop.

As the hallway ended, his eyes began to focus more clearly. The entrance was covered in moonlight, and Jian saw that most of the front windows had been shattered, and that the door had been smashed off its hinges, leaving splinters of wood scattered across the ground.

Several shelves and objects had been torn from the walls or thrown to the ground, and a conglomeration of papers, wood, and other materials were disarrayed all about the place.

As Jian walked further, he reached the counter. He could hear heavy breathing come from the other side. He was tense, and his adrenaline was racing. He stepped up to the edge of the counter, and hesitated for a moment, listening.

The breathing stopped suddenly. Jian waited several more minutes, which seem like an eternity, before moving. He raised his head just over the counter to see what was on the other side.

A loud moan suddenly echoed from the darkness behind the counter, and a disfigured and sore-covered hand reached out and grabbed the barrel of Jian's rifle. Jian shouted in surprise, firing off a round as he fell backwards.

The hand had a grip on the barrel, and the round when buzzing through the store and implanted into the wood just below one of the windowsills. The hand ripped away the gun as Jian lost his grip.

Jian fell to the ground on his backside, sending a shock of pain up his spine. He laid on the ground, shocked and gasping for breath, when a foreboding and ominous figure climbed up and over the counter.

The last thing Jian saw was a set of teeth come down to his face, followed by a sudden ripping pain in his throat, and the warm sensation of blood trickling down his neck as he heard his own screams dissipate into gurgled noises at the bottom of his throat.


End file.
